Vent Frais, Vent Du Matin

Remembering from the piece I just posted ending with the Old Abram Brown children's choir song, that I used to sing in a choir at the French school when I was a kid. I remember hearing them perform before I took part when I was 6 or 7, and I was chilled by the sound they made, and thought "I want to make that sound". So I joined. We had an amazing teacher who gave us these beautiful, haunting songs like Old Abram Brown, which never struck me as strange or creepy at the time (and not now either but some people seem to think so), but just, chillingly beautiful. When I heard it in Moonrise Kingdom, a film that struck me from the first time so close to my heart and always, always will, I remembered that time from my childhood, and that I did that. I even won an award for my singing. Kind of sad I guess because now I never sing except to myself in the shower, I chant sometimes when I'm lonely but the only things I ever seen to remember are a few yoga chants and the lyrics to "I'm Not An Addict" by K's Choice (of all the songs I listen to over and over and over I wonder why that one is the one I always remember). Here is another one we used to sing, though it's not my favorite version I could find; we never had the stupid bells and crappy jazz drums with it:

But I loved being able to join in with other voices and make this sound; I often had solos.

Here are the lyrics, and for extra fun, what I found when I was searching for them - French instructions

• Demandez à votre enfant de découper et coller la chanson "Vent frais"dans son cahier de chants et de l'illustrer.
• L'illustration du texte, permet de vérifier la bonne compréhension du texte, oral pour les plus jeunes et écrit pour ceux qui savent lire.

"Vent frais

Vent frais, vent du matin,

Vent qui souffle au sommet des grands pins,

Joie du vent qui souffle, allons dans le grand

Vent frais ..."

I remember so enjoying what felt like darkness in this song. The mental image of running headlong into the great wind blowing through pine trees. Feeling the joy of that wind, being one with it with the power of the music we made with our own vocal cords and our memoies of the notes and the words and nothing else. 

I Think We Weren't Supposed To Be Like This

I think we were supposed to be childhood friends, to swoop in and awkwardly save ourselves from ourselves then. Not 12 years ago. Not now. We are trying, and doing so much more damage than we can ever undo.

The worst part. The worst part. Is the damage isn't just to ourselves and each other. It's to our memories, our idealizations, our idealizations of love, and of each other,
are sustaining 

permanent 

damage.

We will never again have the idealizations of love that we once we did. We are tarnished in each others' memories. Forever.

"You insensitive self-serving fragment of a human being."

What do you do when someone says this to you?

Fell asleep reading about the first time i talked to him

amidst the crap and chaos and naivety of being 14. He was something real. The one real thing. I'm reading my old journals. Falling sleep on the couch to it to Tool keep expecting him to take care of me when I fold onto thee sofa pillows to pick me up and take me to bed.

But he's gone.

My Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. I, and he, worked hard for a few very potent and real and important moments make the day a beautiful one. And we did it all day today, until the very end we lost it.

I dreamt last night of me hiding a corpse - separated pieces I placed them all on a blanket perfectly on the ground in our home, her mouth gaping open and decrepit of course, her hair up, her head, and legs separated from her torso. In the dream I was worried by husband would come home and ask "what are you doing with that?" And he did. He asked me in the dream, and he asked my decapitated, de-limbed corpse, in real life.

So, I sweat and work and fuck myself again and again on the goddamn machines that pull the sweat the life the fight out of me so I stop fighting. And I listen to Rammstein on repeat as loud as it goes to save my heart and save my soul (and save my godforesaken body)

It was better than this for a few moments, but then, it wasn't.

The Lost Princess

This is my new favorite thing.

Like every other writer I encounter often works of writing that makes me think to myself - "My God, this is so far above anything I could ever create myself." But I very rarely find it on the internet.

I wish it was a book I could hold in my hands and curl up with at night by candle light with Mazzy Star and sparkling wine the colour of mermaid hair. But there just isn't time for this kind of thing in my life anymore. Quiet. Dark. Peace.

The Lost Princess And Other Stories

"They never forgive me for changing but I do it with passion because you need to die a little bit now and then to feel alive."

Barbara Konczarek

I wish I could get prints of this fantastical work somewhere